jbumt

During your four years at JBU, you meet a lot of people. You hear a lot of chapel speakers, sit in a lot of classes, go to a lot of church services, show up to a lot of resident life events, play on different intramural teams, and cheer in the athletic stands with a lot of community members.

Years down the road, you may find yourself accepting a friend request or following an Instagram feed of someone you know you met at JBU but can’t quite recall specifics about him or her. Your circles didn’t coincide much, but you know you were students at JBU together and that “connection” will always feel somewhat safe and known.

On the contrary, there are other people you meet at JBU that will be a part of you for the rest of your life. You might not talk all that often or name your kids after each other or even ever live in the same town again, but time and distance won’t change the place these people hold.

As a professor in the middle of my 7th year of teaching at JBU, it is one of my greatest privileges to watch these relationships form in the Department of Music & Theatre. On the first day of classes, I watch all of the freshman hurry to their Elements of Theory class with Dr. and Mrs. Wubbena. They are a rag-tag group of musicians – some with great ears, some with great minds, some with great charisma hoping to quickly develop their ears and minds, and some stand-out students with the whole “well-rounded musician” package. Silent comparisons fly; insecurities manifest themselves in loud, nervous laughter. It’s a beautiful scene pregnant with possibility.

I watch these students travel through the degree program together, and, as they do, they become one of the most authentic examples of community you’ll ever find. You see, every degree program this department has to offer is flat-out hard. These students get one hour of academic credit for 8-10 hours of work outside the studio or the classroom. They are held to graduate level standards in most courses. Together, these students tutor each other, study together, fail together and encourage each other to try again. They speak truth to each other when self-doubt and deprecation are looming. They create together, laugh together, and live and breathe music together. Not all of them make it through the program, but for those who do, they are forever part of our family. There’s something about becoming more with someone that leaves them inked on your heart forever.

Over 15 years ago, I traveled this same journey as an undergraduate student at JBU. To this day, I can still not only name the students I traveled with, but I can tell you where they are and what they are doing. When I think back to those difficult mornings of musicianship where we all desperately prayed for our name not to be called for sight singing, I had no idea that I was sitting amongst a group of individuals who would someday make a successful run in opera performance, finish PhDs and teach at prestigious universities, compose well-known choral works, write music textbooks, attend the Country Music Awards as a songwriter, or be a worship leader who works to integrate liturgy and contemporary music in the church.

This is the beauty of the department of Music & Theatre. The marriage of hard work and intimate, committed community is one that does not disappoint.

Seth Primm is a worship leader at Mosaic NWA, a Saturday night congregation at Fellowship Bible Church in Lowell, AR. Seth is one of the amazing people I grew to call family while here at JBU. While a student here, he was a standout tenor voice, a member of the Cathedral Choir, and a founding member of the men’s quartet. His arranging skills were innovative and fresh, and his ear was impeccable. After he gradated, he married Joy Elliott (who happened to be one of my roommates at JBU) and eventually accepted a worship leading position at Fellowship Bible Church. Since arriving at Fellowship, Seth has been instrumental in the development and growth of the Saturday night congregation called Mosaic. Seth and the worshipping community of Mosaic are releasing a new album of worship songs written for the Advent season. Give a listen to the song below and then click here to pre-order the full album.

Congratulations to Seth and his team. The Department of Music & Theatre at JBU is proud to call you “one of ours,” and we celebrate the gifts you have been given and the Kingdom work you are pursuing.

I attended your faculty recital tonight. I must admit, I came primarily because it was required of me. I supposed that was the case for a few of us tonight. The whole “Recital Attendance” course has never really been my favorite part of being a Music Major. In fact, I’ve been guilty of conquering multiple levels of Candy Crush during several of these “culturally broadening opportunities.” However, tonight, I feel there are a few things you should know about how your recital impacted me.

First, as you were in the middle of your second German set, I realized that your diction had been and continued to be impeccable. You talk to me a lot about diction in our lessons – how it is a part of musical excellence, how it communicates story and how it enhances and propels melodic phrases and lines. I get it now. I know I’ve told you that I understand in my lessons, but I really understand now. Watching you do what you teach and seeing how much that small detail changed the entirety of each piece, took my cognitive understanding to a higher level and birthed an emotional understanding that I believe will be invaluable.

Second, your French set was breathtaking. I mean, truly breathtaking. It could be the romantic in me, but hearing you sing this music reminded me that you are not only a teacher, but you are also an artist. The precision of your intervals mixed with lines and phrases that told every story left me teary in my seat. I could hear your voice in my head telling me that good technique would give me the freedom to really be an artist and reach deep places in people. Again, I get it now. I also get that all of tonight’s recital must have taken an insane amount of preparation. You must have spent the majority of your summer preparing for this. I don’t think you had to do that, but I’m really grateful that you wanted to. It was really inspiring to see that performing and making music is such a high value for you. I love that you still want to be an artist in the midst of teaching and mentoring the rest of us.

Finally, I really want to thank you for being so accessible to us tonight. As you sang your encore piece, I was taken aback by what a privilege it is to know you as a person. Tonight, we watched you and your sister perform for the first time together an entire (very ambitious) professional recital. We watched your family file into the center section of the auditorium, already proud of their daughter, wife, mother, and friend. We watched your father walk to the stage and give congratulatory flowers to his two daughters, and if we were watching closely, we saw the almost tear that he wiped from his right eye. You even let us listen in as you sang a lullaby to your children. Tonight, you weren’t just a JBU faculty member delivering a memorable performance in terms of difficulty of literature, professional artistry and near flawless technique. Tonight, you were a woman who chose to be vulnerable with a room full of people in hopes that they might experience beauty. Thank you for that.

I’m really looking forward to our lesson next week. Thanks for your willingness to help me be better. After tonight, I realize you could have chosen a much more glamorous path. Thanks for choosing us.

As the school season draws to a close, many students are preparing for a summer break, filled with internships, travel, and adventure before coming back to JBU in the fall.

For some students, however, this is not just the end of a semester, but the end of a life season.

As the years go by, the JBU Music and Theatre Department is obligated to say goodbye to students who are preparing themselves to graduate. It is with mutual joy for our graduates’ success and sorrow for the department’s loss JBUMT bids these incredible students farewell.

We have asked a small collection JBUMT graduating seniors for a word of wisdom to share with other current JBUMT students, incoming students, and prospective JBUMT students.

They responded with the following:

“Something I want to pass on — something I have learned through my experiences in the music department at JBU: Never let the fear of failure hold you back from building relationships with someone who intimidates you [or confuses you], learning new things that you may or may not end up enjoying or being successful at, or becoming better at things you think you’ve already mastered. At the end of the day, the choices that are the most difficult or risky or uncomfortable are the ones you will look back on and never regret.” – Jenna | Music Education

“Singing is my talent; I’m using it for God’s glory. What is your talent and who’s glory are you using it for?” – Seth | Vocal Performance

“If I were to say something to incoming and current students, it would be this: While you’re here, BE here. Be with the people, take advantage of spontaneous fun and invest. Embrace challenges, whether academically or personally, and be thankful for the humbling experiences that the Lord uses to sharpen you. It is an incredible journey!” – Olivia | Public Relations, Drama

“Enjoy every single second in college, and take advantages of being in college, JBU. Do everything you want while you are here so you don’t regret after you graduate. College friends last forever so don’t lose them” – Jo | Worship Arts

“Go for everything. Audition for things you think you’ll fail at, take classes you think you’ll hate, talk to people you think you’ll annoy. You might have been right, but regret is worse than failure. Also, wash your socks & call your mom. She misses you.” – Kaitlyn | Cathedral Choir member, 2014 Best Actress in a Musical, 2015 Best Actress in a Play

John Brown University Music and Theatre Department graduates, we thank you for leaving a legacy. May the Lord ever bless you and keep you, and may His face shine upon you.

Okay, maybe a blank page doesn’t always seem so exciting–at least, not to me. But, it’s my suspicion that I’m not alone in ever having felt intimidated by a blank page.

Does a blank page, with its blinking cursor or its empty blue lines, look overwhelming to you?

Does it look like the song that you’ve held in your mind for years but never transcribed? Does it look like the paper that you have to write by tomorrow, but feel incapable of finishing? Does the intimidating blankness look like all the things you’ve wanted to write and accomplish, but have never felt capable enough to complete, or even start?

No ability. No talent. Mediocre.

Perhaps your self-criticism swirls endlessly in your mind, and all the while that cursor blinks at you–no words on its left side, no ideas on its right side.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Perhaps you echo it with words confirming your self-doubt.

“I can’t.” “I can’t.” “I can’t.”

And perhaps, by simply looking at that blank page, you become increasingly aware that you’re not good enough.

You’re not capable enough.

You are worthless.

And, isn’t it that continual rejection that we fear? We fear seeing our own inadequacies on paper, in black and white. We sit in that fear, marinate in it, and do anything to escape it, including sliding the mouse to the “X” at the top corner of the page, shutting down the computer program, crumpling up the paper, and avoiding the notion to write anything at all.

Do you want to know something strange? Every successful songwriter, novelist, playwright, or poet that I have ever studied has had trouble writing. But, the more I think about it, the more I realize that it really doesn’t seem strange at all that most writers struggle with writing.

You see, I’ve found that writing is more about courage than ability. You might think that you are incapable of writing that song, lyric, script, or novel.

But I think you’re wrong.

It is my sincere conviction that you do, in fact, have the ability to write–and not just write, but create–beautiful things.

William Wordsworth once said, “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”

Allow your heart to overflow onto the words of your blank page. They don’t have to be well-constructed words; they must only be authentic words.

You see, we all have very important stories, memories, and experiences to share–stories that come so naturally to our minds and hearts that they feel as simple as breathing. And this, dear friend, is where you must begin–have the courage to breathe in and breathe out the things of your heart.

One of my favorite moments in the children’s novel The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian is when Aslan, the mighty and gentle ruler of Narnia says to Susan, “You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them. Are you brave again?”

You have listened to fears, child.

Be unafraid. Be vulnerable enough to expose yourself to failure and rejection in the exchange of speaking things that simply must be heard.

And may the things that we speak be uttered in praise to the Lord.

It is time to inhale the breath He has given to you, and let it make you brave, once more.

It’s Your breath in our lungsSo we pour out our praisePour out our praise to You, only

Pick up your guitar.
Place your fingers on the keys.
Put your pen to the paper.

Breathe in, and be brave.

Hi! My name is Chester Wubbena, and I am the mascot and therapy dog for the Music & Theatre Department at John Brown University. I am around four years old, a Corgi mix, and I was adopted from the local animal shelter two years ago by Jan and Terri Wubbena, teachers here in the music program at JBU. I LOVE coming to JBU; the students LOVE me coming to JBU; and I provide a very important service. I go to classes when there is going to be a test. Hanging out with me in the first few minutes of class helps to lower their blood pressure and their stress level. I really believe I help them relax and better concentrate on what they are doing!! I put smiles on the faces of everyone I meet, because I am always smiling.

Life in the Department of Music & Theatre is always busy. Something is always being prepared – the freshman drama production, Homecoming Showcase, music for the Gathering on Sunday nights, the musical theatre production, Candlelight – and the list goes on. But things are never so busy that there isn’t time to talk, to visit, and to share with each other what is going on in our lives.

From time to time, you may hear more from me. It will be an honor for me to give you a dog’s perspective on what it is like to be in the Department of Music & Theatre! And, if you are ever on campus and want to brighten your day (and mine), come see me. I’m most always in my dad’s office.

Lea Finder sheepishly said this on Sunday night at the Gathering, nearly as soon as she walked on stage. And it was one of those honest moments that hits you so hard you make this weird sort of “grunt of agreement” sound, and then you nod a lot—at least I did anyway. Then I thought…

“Am I much more comfortable here in the pew?”

While observing services at a local church, I noticed that there appears to be a lack of congregational participation through out the service. Other than singing or laughing at the pastor’s jokes about the Seinfeld clips he uses to relate to the sermon, there is an understood notion of “I stay here in my seat with my coffee, and I watch, listen, and sing. Boom.” So there is almost a learned sense of…

“I am much more comfortable here in this chair.”

During the Reformation era of the 16th century, Martin Luther challenged the ways of Catholic Europe. Interestingly, one of Luther’s many reforms had to do with congregational participation during the worship service. He proposed the adaptation of Gregorian chant, secular art music, and even popular tunes into strophic four-part harmony set in the vernacular German text. This encouraged the congregation to participate more by making the music more accessible to the people. These works were called chorales and are an example of balance between being led and singing all together.

Eventually, over time, this idea of creating accessible liturgy for the church by adapting forms of pop culture contributed to all sorts of different congregations reciting creeds, prayers, calls to worship, and other things together. The congregation became an active part of the service by accepting an invitation to join in worship with the body of Christ. Today, however, there is a natural lean towards pursuing individualism rather than togetherness. Perhaps we have forgotten the beauty and power brought on by the Reformation?

So often I go into a service with a terrible attitude. I am focused on trying to avoid that weird mom who talks a lot or that person I forgot to text back about helping out with the youth group. I just walk in, grab coffee, and go to my seat. This is such a limiting, comfortable way to approach worshipping as a body. I don’t even think about my brothers and sisters that surround me. I like my space.

It takes great faith to learn to get up out of the pew, as Lea confessed. It takes great faith to choose to add your voice to the hundreds of voices around you and throughout history and to believe your voice matters.

“Lord, here are my hands. They’re small, they’re small and

Here are my hands, they’re small and trembling.

Here are my dreams, they’re me protected,

Here are my dreams, so please be gentle now…”

~Aaron Niequist (A New Liturgy)

Lord, use us today for the good of your Kingdom. Guide our thoughts, words, and actions in every encounter we face, so that we may know you more and consider all other gains as loss. Let us grow tired from sitting comfortable, and give us the strength to stand up and join in with your body.

Sweat was gathering on my brow. I was sitting in musicianship class, trying not to look directly at our professor, who had just given me a pitch from a pitch pipe and was waiting for me to begin. All I had to do was sing this sight-singing exercise, but the heat of the moment made it seem so much more difficult. If only I had practiced more last night!

I decided the only thing to do was to give it my best shot, and that’s what I did. It wasn’t stellar, but it wasn’t terrible either. And it was better than last time, which was the important thing. Something I was doing in practice was paying off, even if only a little. Somewhere in those late night sessions of trying to figure out what was going on in this harmonic dictation, or which prepared sight-singing exercises I was going to neglect preparing, or why we had to go this in-depth with musicianship anyway, I was actually learning something.

That something was musicianship skills, and they have showed up in my study of music ever since. As hard as it would have been for me to believe at the time, everything I was doing mattered. Learning to read simple lines with solfege would give me a leg up on learning tough pieces in choir. Reading multiple cleffs and trying to understand harmonic dictations made me more prepared to play hymns in class piano. And learning to practice even when I didn’t want to has made me a more competent musician in every way.

It wasn’t just musicianship, though. My experience in Music Theory classes has helped me, too. Whether analyzing a piece in Music History, or harmonizing a melody, or writing an aural analysis of a piece performed in a recital, a deeper understanding of the basic workings of music has given me the ability to succeed at every point along the way.

While it wasn’t easy, it was worth it. I’m glad I worked through the tough classes in the first two years of my music major. Not only has it given me valuable music skills, it has given me the motivation to work hard in the rest of the hard classes I have yet to take.

Today, I got a sneak peak at the preparations for the upcoming JBU drama production, Pride and Prejudice. I also had the chance to ask some of the actors a few questions about their experience in the show so far. Watching the novel come to life on stage made me extremely excited to see the final product. Already, the production is brimming with life, wit, and charm. The cast has dedicated themselves to portray their characters with all the color that Jane Austen intended, and their work is paying off.

Joel, cast as Mr. Collins, told me about the process of bringing his on-stage character to life: “My favorite part of preparing for the show is probably figuring out which of my lines have great potential for comedy, and using different body language than I normally would.” Every small detail is important. Joel has spent a long time refining the “postures, motions, and facial expressions that distinguish this character from others I have portrayed.” Today I could see that each actor was striving for their own set of emotions and expressions that make their characters unique. Alec, who is playing Mr. Darcy, explained his character: “He is not a character you can judge from the outside alone, and I think that applies to many people in the world.”

The play is definitely taking shape, but there is still much work to be done. With less than two weeks until production, Kaitlyn, who is playing the role of Mrs. Bennet, understands the pressure of limited time. “Right now we’re trying to cram as many lines as we can into our heads,” she told me. Memorizing lines is a challenge in any play, and Pride and Prejudice is no exception. Joel explained that the dialogue for this show contains “difficult and wordy language that we no longer use,” which makes memorization even more difficult. The show places demands on the backstage crew as well. Joel also told me, “There will be no black-outs or scene changes that occur without lines. The lighting crew has a great task set before them, and it will be fantastic to watch.”

Despite the challenges of the production, the cast is enjoying themselves. In addition to the usual fun that accompanies acting on stage, Kaitlyn told me, “We’ve also discovered the joy of rapping in our British accents. Such fun!” Putting together a show like Pride and Prejudice requires a cast that is willing to band close together, and that closeness often creates lasting friendships. “At JBU specifically, the hearts of the cast are always what make the production so enjoyable and memorable,” Alec told me. Kaitlyn agreed: “I’ve been in shows with a lot of these people before and they’ve become some of my best friends.”

The biggest takeaway of the day? This show is going to be great. Alec called the script “a very fun and entertaining version of the novel.” Combine a great script with a great cast, a great crew, and a great director (Jan Lauderdale), and you have the recipe for a fantastic show.

In the words of everyone I interviewed, “You don’t want to miss this show!” In fact, click here, and buy your tickets now!

~Steven

Steven is a Junior, majoring in Music Education. He is one of two student conductors for the JBU Cathedral Choir, the Concertmaster for the JBU Chamber Orchestra, and a talented actor in many JBU stage productions.

“These are the songs that we sing, to make the day better.” – Matt Costa, “Songs We Sing”

Saturday morning I woke up late (like, three hours after I had been planning on getting up) and groggily pulled myself out of bed, still wrapped up by terrible dreams, still worrying about work I hadn’t finished, and conversations that had said too much or not enough the day before. A depressing heap of dirty laundry sat at the foot of my bed, a heap composed of every piece of clothing I’d brought across the Atlantic except for one formal dress, a few scarves, and two sweaters. Those were still marginally “clean.” I needed to buy laundry soap (and to buy groceries for the week while I was out: bread, eggs, milk, bananas…), to respond to that professor’s emailed question, to catch up on emails from friends that I had somehow still not gotten to answering…. I sat blearily on my bed, and some voice in my mind began to sing a little ditty that I had made up a few days before as I biked up the steep Headington Hill, coming home after a long day of studying and lectures. The lyrics go like this:

[Verse 1a]

It is dark

And it is cold

And my fingers

Are trying to hold

Onto

These frozen handlebars

I rummaged through the laundry pile for something that was clean-ish, mumbling vaguely-coherent morning prayers, and glanced at the stack of books that I had to read, at least one of which is already overdue (I’ve only been here two weeks; how have I already managed to forget to renew a book?). So, like a mature adult, I didn’t do anything and scrolled through Facebook and Instagram. Then I didn’t read my Bible and shuffled downstairs to find something for breakfast, still hearing the now-familiar tune in my head:

[Verse 1b]

It is dark

And it is cold

Oh, why was I so bold

As to think

This was a good idea?

This was clearly not a good idea.

Breakfast is a good thing (scrambled eggs, muesli in yogurt, hot coffee mixed with hot chocolate powder). There are friendly people, conversations, dishes, and laughter, and I somehow manage to partly engage and still partly remain in my own unhappy head, singing my unhappy song:

[Chorus Part A]

But I’m here now, aren’t I?

I’m afraid, and I’m alone.

I’m here now, aren’t I?

Singing about my woes.

Though I could stay and linger with my cup of coffee-cocoa and talk with people, I don’t. I carry my isolated self to my third-floor room and, still lacking the energy to read Scripture or pray properly, I plug headphones in and listen to Krista Tippet’s interview with Archbishop Desmond Tutu, a program titled, “A God of Surprises.” The fifty-minute conversation ranges across Tutu’s spiritual influences, the Truth and Reconciliation Council, forgiveness, apartheid, racism, and overall, a God who is in the business of putting things right. Near the end of the interview, there’s this exchange:

Ms. Tippet: …I think people might look at you and the life you’ve lived and also, you know, the bad things that continue to happen in South Africa and all the rest of the world, and say, “This guy says this is a moral universe?” And there’s this line you’ve just echoed, you’ve written so many times, “God is in charge,” and they might also say, “How can he say that?” I mean, tell me, you’ve been saying God is in charge for a long time, for decades. And so what do you mean when you say that and what that means to you, has that changed? Has that evolved?

Archbishop Tutu: Well, I mean, you must add that I’ve sometimes said to God, “It would be nice for you to make it slightly more obvious that you’re in charge.” [laughter]

When the program ended, I pull out my headphones, take the stack of books in my arms, and head to the “typing room” (computer lab). As I thud down the stairs, I finally finish the second-half of the chorus, the final two lines that had been resisting my attempts to make them fit the way I wanted them to:

[Chorus Part B]

I’m here now, aren’t I?

So what am I to do?

But keep pedalling

And crying out to you.

Because that’s all I really know to do: to bring myself to God and say, in a very basic way, “I’m unhappy. Please help.” And perhaps the strangest, deepest mystery of faith is that my prayers have been answered. Not in clear-as-sunlight ways. But in, choose-to-have-eyes-of-faith ways. When I suddenly understand the significance of Handel’s switch from opera to oratorio. When a connection is made and an acquaintance feels like a friend. Being invited into an unplanned dance-party in the kitchen after lonely hours studying. A warm radiator to lean against after a cold bike ride. Someone asking, “How are you?” The opportunity to ask another, “How are you?” The strength to get out of bed in the morning. Seeing a friend via Facetime. Hearing a song I know.

Tiny answers to tiny prayers that give me the energy to keep pedalling (and, when the way gets very steep, the humility to step off my bike and push it the rest of the way up.) It’s not much, but it’s enough. The point of today is not to accomplish a lot of things but to echo Tutu and every other biblical prophet and say, “God is in charge.” And then, to prove my belief by doing what I’ve been given to do: essays and groceries and people and emails and paying my overdue fine. And I am comforted in that.

Biking to the Wycliffe Library, about a fifteen minute ride down a hill, over speed bumps, across a field, and on the bike path, I composed and sang Verse 2:

Today the sun is shining bright

Sending sad thoughts

Into flight

Like pigeons,

Startled by my bike.

So I’ll raise my head up high

And drink in that blue, gorgeous sky

And praise God

for his tender mercies

For truly, they are

tender mercies

[Chorus]

Because I’m here now, aren’t I?

Not afraid and not alone

I’m here now, aren’t I?

And grace is what I’m shown.

And I’m here, now asking,

What am I to do?

But keep pedalling

And singing praise to you.

~Jewel

Jewel is Senior, majoring in General Music. Jewel is spending the semester studying music and literature at the University of Oxford in England. She is an accomplished cellist and is very involved with the Chamber Orchestra at JBU.

I’m thoroughly convinced that everyone should know Franky Ross. One might say that he is a cog, for lack of a better term. Now, I’m not trying to denigrate the name or status of Franky by calling him a cog. In fact, I’m applauding him for it.

What is a cog? Well, Webster defines it as “a subordinate but integral person or part.” In a world and culture swollen with folks determined–nay, resigned–to be the only person noticed in a crowd, the only person at the forefront, or the only person entitled to anything at all, cogs are hard to come by. But without the people backstage opening the curtain, how can the show go on?

So, Franky Ross. What makes this guy cool? Franky is a behind-the-scenes man to the core, in all the best possible ways. Although I’ve never seen him speak publicly, he was the life-blood of the First Baptist Church of Locust Grove. Every Saturday evening he would drive up to the church, set the air conditioning to a comfortable temperature, make sure the sanctuary was cleaned up, and deal with any of the various loose ends that might have needed mending. No one asked him. Not many knew he did it. He was always the first to church on Sunday morning, and always the last to leave in the afternoon. The man was a saint.

Now, someone might wonder why Franky’s acts of service are important. I would have to agree that the acts themselves aren’t very important, nor are they unique to Christianity. The key difference between Mr. Ross and the other cogs of the world is this: while he toiled away at the unglamorous jobs, he was worshipping the Almighty God. As Harold Best explains in his book, Unceasing Worship, it was Franky’s “worship as witness.” Although he wasn’t pastoring a flock or digging a well in Africa, Franky Ross was witnessing and serving the Body of Christ through his worship in the mundane. He was worshipping Christ while setting a thermostat. He was worshipping The Lord while setting up chairs. And he was content.

How then, can we worship God in the mundane? Rather than complain and whine about our homework, practice, and recital attendance (Music Majors, listen up!), should we not choose to praise the name of God in all situations? Should we not radiate joy as we practice and work and perform?

I was fashioned after a God who is excellent in all he does. And that God sent his son, Jesus Christ, to die for me that I might, by faith and grace, receive eternal life. This is reason enough to be thankful, finding contentment and opportunities to worship in all things.

I want to be like Franky Ross.

~Connor

Connor is a sophomore, majoring in Worship Arts. Connor sings in the Cathedral Choir and plays the bass guitar in a Chapel Band.